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Snow swirled through the air as they wind bit at the small boy's skin. He shivered violently and his teeth chattered, but though he was surrounded by the dead, he was at peace. Perhaps it was the seemingly oncoming end of his short life, or perhaps he had realized somewhere deep inside that there was nothing left to be scared of. He had wrapped himself in a thick black cloak much too large for him and crawled into the corner of the ruined house.
The first people had died nearly three months earlier. There was no war with Ntir or Deharl or North Sempet, though all of those were, as usual, very real possibilities. For the moment, the land was at peace. It was not battle that currently ravaged the cold northern nation, but a deadly plague that swept through the land. While the first people who had died had received proper funerals, eventually everyone had fallen sick and there was no one left to take care of the sick. No one but the little boy, who had forgotten his name. The last one- the little boy's sister- had died the night before. The little boy closed his eyes and his eyelids froze over in nearly an instant. He sobbed and the tears chilled to ice seconds later. Instead of darkness and cold, warmth and light seemed to wash over him, like the clouds had gone away and winter had been banished. He could imagine the suns burning bright in the sky again, like they did during the warmer summers. It was never hot in the North, not even warm. All there was in the High One's Dwelling, as the nation was called, was a slight cold or the blizzards. But there was heat for the boy now.
Calm. A voice murmured in his head. It wasn't his, but it didn't feel alien. All will be fine, little boy. What is your name? The voice asked. It seemed to search through the tired boy's skull for a word. Ah… there it is. It will not be your name again for a long time, little boy. But you will be safe. It was kind, and the boy guessed correctly that it was the source of the warmth.
The boy slept not long after that. The voice never came again.

A short man, wearing a cobalt blue robe with the hood up, stood looking over the stone ridge. The snows had calmed, and the suns were shining in the sky, reflecting their light off of the white. He squinted, trying to find the trace of the village. His comrade stood beside him. The man was an Inquisitor, one of the Order's soldiers and investigators. His robe had no sleeves, and it parted at the waist to allow for easier movement.
"Can you see anything?" He asked the man. The man was silent. "Hello?" The man, Asmund, nodded and ran out off the ridge. "Hello?" The first man, Kaj, shouted. He stumbled after him in his tight robe. Asmund was a fast runner, and Kaj was not an athletic or healthy man. He had a sizeable paunch and his legs were weak, while Asmund, like most Inquisitors, was in peak condition. "Where are you going?"
"There is someone alive here. I can feel him." It was best not to argue with the Inquisitors. Kaj could feel nothing, but the Golden Flame bestowed upon the soon-to-be Inquisitors was far stronger than the Flame given to normal priests. The aura that radiated from everyone was easier seen by the Inquisitors, too. Kaj finally caught up with the man as they stood over a bump in the snow.
"… Here?" Kaj asked. Asmund nodded.
"It snowed for weeks. The houses are covered in snow. I don't know how." The man got down on his knees and pawed through the snow, shoveling away the white with his bare hands. Another gift of the Flame was an inability to be affected by the cold, something that helped the priests enormously.
The two finally arrived at a wooden rooftop with some holes in it. Asmund stood and looked it over quickly, gesturing for Kaj to move back. The man did as he bade and climbed back up onto the snow bank.
"What are you trying?" He asked. Asmund didn't answer. It seemed to be a common thing for the man. Instead, he clenched his fists and raised his knee before driving it down furiously. There was a loud crack, and the wood gave way. The strong man plunged through the new hole and out of Kaj's view. The short man crowed a sound and leaned over the edge of the snow bank. Light had retaken the home- that was what it was, it seemed- and small piles of snow had gathered in a few different places.
"Don't even bother. If there's anyone in there, they're dead already." He called. Asmund shook his head. He was surrounded by bodies, but he was only looking at a lump in the corner. As Kaj climbed down, he realized it was a boy, no more than six, bundled up in a black cloak. Around him in a three-foot radius, there was not a single snow flake. It was as if the boy had been radiating heat. He was asleep, if not dead.
"By the Sky Dweller…" Kaj breathed. Asmund shot him a dark look, and Kaj grimaced quickly. One was not to use the High One's name lightly. The Inquisitor knelt down and lifted the boy up, peeling back the wet cloak. The boy had dark brown hair the color of wood. Asmund pushed the eyelids apart. The boy had equally brown eyes. He had pale skin, not uncommon for a Northerner, and his chest rose and fell regularly.
"He's… fine. Healthy, I'd say." Asmund said in shock. He tried to regain his composure, but lost it again a moment later as he handed the boy to the middle-aged man. "Do you smell that?" He asked. He sniffed. "It's horrible, and it's not just rotting flesh." He got down on the ground and smelled one of the bodies, a tall man. He flipped the man over. He, too, had brown hair and pale skin. Probably the boy's father. He sniffed again and nodded slowly.
"The plague. They smell of sickness and carrion, but this man is well-preserved by the snow and cold." He looked at the boy in Kaj's arms, taking in every detail with his searching eyes. "But he's healthy. Completely." Kaj nodded, slightly confused.
"What does that mean?" He asked.
"It means he's healthy, that's what. Aside from you and the boy, I can't feel anyone else in this village. They're dead. Every single one of them, but this boy, a child, lived. How in the Sky Dwell-" He cut himself off, turning away quickly. Kaj chortled with satisfaction.
"So we return to the Monastery, then? If the rest are dead?" He asked. Asmund nodded. He put his chin in his hand, supporting the arm with his other hand. He looked all over the house. Not everyone looked like the boy. It was a very real possibility that, in the last days of their lives, the villagers had joined together and cowered in one household. Kaj knew that was a terrible idea. Their sicknesses would jump from one to the other, ensuring that any complications and mutations one had, the others would too.
Asmund reached up to the rotting rafter and pulled it firmly. Another crack came, as loud as the last, and a stairway of snow fell from the bank. He took the boy from the older priest's arms and climbed the steep slope. Kaj met him at the top, finding the tall man staring off into the distance. Mountains jutted into the sky, and the nearest- Mount Ahgi- had an enormous stone monastery built into the side. It was the Great Monastery, in fact, the de facto headquarters of the High One's church. The high council of monks convened there and made their great decisions, while men of higher learning studied and reflected on scripture and story in the great library that had been erected long ago by the modern-day priests' predecessors.
"I'm going to take him back to the Monastery. Try to keep up." Asmund said coldly.
"What, now?" Kaj asked. Halfway through the sentence, the other priest had already begun to run, shooting off into the distance like a blue streak. The older man cursed and hiked back up to the ridge, where he'd discarded his staff.
"Damn insufferable man." The priest muttered as he began the long walk home.

Asmund rushed up to the doors of the monastery, his skin moist and red from fatigue. He shifted the boy into his right arm and rapped on the door as loud as he could. They creaked loudly as they opened. Asmund walked in through as fast as he could manage, but his energy was long since spent. He brushed the child's forehead. He was still warm. Feeling his own a second later, he realized he was colder than the boy somehow. He pulled down his hood and moved straight for the door to the High Monk's tower. He pushed open the wooden door and began the long walk up to the High Monk's chambers.

Finally, he pushed through the second set of doors and into the small, warm room that served as High Monk Martin's office. The old man looked up calmly, though Asmund hadn't bothered to keep the slightest calm in his entrance, instead bursting through the door loudly.
"Brother." He said quietly. Asmund approached the desk. "Approach." He said with a self-satisfied smile.
"High Brother, Brother Kaj and I found this child in what was Palle before the blizzards. It seems they all died, except for this one." Martin stood, stroking his grey beard slowly and methodically, his strong fingers going over ever strand and hair. He took the child from Asmund's arms and looked at him intently.
"He's warm. You've done well, Brother…" He paused, and his eyes flicked up to look Asmund in the face.
"Asmund, High Brother. But that's just the thing. He was like this when we found him, in a shack covered in snow with shoddy walls and roofing. But he was… warm, if not hot." Martin nodded slowly, pulling the cloak's hood back. He handed the child back to the Inquisitor and took his seat again, tapping his fingertips against the desktop.
"You will care for the child. Not too much, all you need to do is provide him a shelter and anything he may need. Others will tutor him. It is not the first time the Monastery has raised an orphan." Asmund's eyes widened, and he gagged. He nearly dropped the boy, but caught the falling black form a second later.
"B-but- High Brother, I must say that this is a terrible idea. I am not fit to raise a child." The High Monk shrugged nonchalantly and returned to his work.
"You will become fit, then. I will speak with you later, Brother Asmund. There is something we must speak of, I think." The Inquisitor nodded and descended the stairs again, leaving the High Monk to his work. Once the door was closed, Martin leaned back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling. The suns painted there numbered three, though there were only two in the sky at any time. A tall mountain pierced the center sun like an arrow in the heart of a man. It was Mount Aghi, Martin knew. The highest in Gammesia. Many of the High One's followers attested to having seen the Sky Dweller's true form at the top of the mountain, a man that was not only a man but a mighty dragon and a serpent and a bear, all at once. He turned away from the desk to find a black letter attached to the windowsill by an arrow. He opened it with dread.

Asmund came out into the light of the day and shielded his eyes from the sun. He looked back down at the boy in his hands that would, it seem, occupy the next ten years of his life or so. He scowled. He had never liked children, the dreadful spastic things.
The doors creaked as they let another man into the Monastery. Asmund had to squint, but he finally figured out that the shape moving past the already shutting doors was the portly Brother Kaj. The man seemed to find him in an instant, bustling towards Asmund with impatience.
"Well?" He asked, gesturing towards the child. "What'd you do with the boy?"
"I'm… I'm to take care of him. Raise him, it seems." Kaj scoffed at that before erupting into unkempt laughter. He leaned on his staff as his face went red. Asmund glowered at the other monk. "It's not funny." He muttered. Kaj shook his head, waving the other man off.
"Not funny? Are you joking, man? It's hilarious!" He blurted. Asmund growled, and Kaj finally calmed down. "So what next? At this moment, I mean." Asmund shrugged.
"Until the boy wakes, I can hardly do anything. I suppose I'll bring him to the infirmary, but it doesn't seem like anything's the matter." He stared, still confused at the boy.

Night fell quickly in the Dwelling of the High One, particularly during the winter. The boy had been placed under the care of Matron Helmi, but Asmund waited by the boy's side. He hadn't moved at all since the Inquisitor had found the boy, aside from his chest rising and falling with his breathing. He had fallen asleep in an uncomfortable chair provided by one of the nurses, his hood shading his dark eyes and his hands resting in his lap. Every once in a while, a nurse on night duty would come along and check on the boy, only to remark every time that not a thing had changed. The boy was not sick. The boy was not dying. The boy was not even dead.
At the moment the moon hit the highest point in its nightly journey, the boy's eyes snapped open. He sat up slowly and calmly and looked around. Not a sound was made. The boy poked Asmund in the chest, and one eye, still hidden in shadow, opened and stared at the boy.
"Finally awake, are you?" He murmured. The boy didn't move. Asmund stood and waved a nurse over. She checked the boy's temperature and felt his forehead. Nothing had changed. The boy sat calmly through it all. After nearly a half hour of tests, the boy and the monk were alone again.
"Where's my family?" The boy asked. Asmund blinked. He had no idea how to break the news to the child. He continued to stare at the boy for a moment before answering.
"Boy… you must know that the people in your village were sick." The boy nodded, and Asmund nodded with him. "Good. Then… I'm afraid…" Asmund trailed off again, looking deeply into the boy's dark eyes. The boy still wasn't scared, not after waking up in a strange place with strange people. "I'm afraid your family has gone to be with the High One." The boy nodded again, and smiled.
"Well… that's good, I guess." He said with a shining smile. Asmund nearly caught himself smiling, too. Instead, he nodded again. It seemed like if he nodded any more, his head would fall off its hinges.
"Yes. Yes it is, I suppose. That means you have to stay here for a while. A long while. Do you know where you are?" Asmund asked in the kindest voice he could muster. Concern did not come easy for him. The boy looked around at the beds and the nurses milling about. Asmund was not the only monk there, though he was the only one wearing an Inquisitor's distinct sleeveless robes. The boy finally shook his head. "You're in the Great Monastery, to the north of your village. Have you ever seen the Great Monastery, boy?" The boy shook his head again, and Asmund nodded. It was the best response he could think of. A quiet minute passed between the two of them before Asmund asked his next question.
"What's your name, boy?" He asked. The boy sat there quietly for a moment more before shrugging. Asmund sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking the boy up and down. He had long, shaggy hair, most likely due to the difficulty of finding someone to cut a child's hair when one is dying of the plague. His blue tunic and trousers were both wet from the snow, but the boy didn't seem to care. He racked his brain for something to call the boy.
"Leogeon. That's your name. Leogeon means Strange One, boy. And a strange one you are indeed."

Leogeon shivered, even in his new blue robe. Not yet a priest, at least not officially, the robe did him little good. It was thin and not warm at all, not even sufficient to break the wind. The tall man stumbled towards the looming wooden doors that stood just out of his reach. It had taken him nearly a week to get here, and his stamina and strength was at its end. Finally, his long fingers caught the freezing-cold door and pulled it open. Before he stepped in, he shed the pack that hung from his shoulders. Only two things were to enter the High One's Sanctum- the priest-to-be, and the priest-to-be's clothing. Leogeon stepped through the entryway into the enormous stone chamber. The stones were warm, somehow, and the area was well lit, though not from any natural light. Torches burned on posts that bordered the Sanctum's pool, but they were not the source of the light. Small specks of golden flame floated through the chamber like fireflies, things that Leogeon recognized as the High One's light. He stumbled through the room, feeling his limbs warm up. He kicked off his shoes towards the door and came up to the lip of the pool. Peering into the clear water, he saw that it was about a meter and a half deep, coming up to about his chest. He dipped one foot in, and then the other. Soon, he was as deep in the water as possible. Asmund had told him what he had to do. He waded up to the far end of the pool, where a tall stone tablet stood. There were words inscribed on it.
"The Creed of the Follower." Leogeon whispered, stroking the centuries-old writing. The letters were faded. No-one was allowed into the Sanctum save to take the Creed, and thus it was ill-maintained. Leogeon breathed slowly. The stone's carvings slowly made sense to the tall priest-to-be. At the head, there was a figure wrapped in the coils of a mighty serpent and the wings of a dragon. The Sky Dweller, the High One himself. Below him, there were men, praying. They all wore robes, the same ones that Leogeon guessed he was wearing now. He followed the tale down. The carving to the far left depicted the Holy War, as it was called. It had come not long after Brym and Deharl's founding. The first of the High One's followers, the holy Ivar Torin. He had had a vision of the High One, where the High One demanded that he gathered his people, the Northerners of Deharl, together. Ivar had not gone unnoticed; when the king of Deharl had realized what was happening, Ivar's followers had already begun to take land away from the selae, the slender, pointy-eared swordsmasters of Deharl that had ruled the North for nearly two hundred years. That had sparked a war that soon spread to Brym. Ivar started the Inquisitors to fight the Paladins and the Deharlean military, carving a swath of land through the North.
Next to the Holy War carving showed Ivar and his acolytes building the Great Monastery into Mount Ahgi. It had taken until the end of Ivar's life, the story went, but it was a great and magnificent home for the High One's followers.
Finally, Leogeon turned to the last carving. This one did not depict the history of the High One's Order, but rather its future. It showed one man shining brighter than the sun, and leading the Order to an idyllic future. Not only that, it showed his armies slaying the so-called 'enemies' of the church. Leogeon frowned at the image. On it, Paladins and selae alike were slaughtered and destroyed. He gritted his teeth. The prophesized future of the church, known as the Cleansing, had nearly destroyed the church's reputation, not to mention the church itself. Most of the High One's modern followers hoped for a more peaceful future, though one no less idyllic than the one on the stone.
Leogeon returned to the Creed. He took in the words, verse by verse. His brown eyes went from word to word, and he murmured the oath slowly. It didn't count, of course, not until he held one of the tall staves of the priests or the blade of an Inquisitor that were kept in the back of the Sanctum, just behind the tablet. He pushed through the small opening on the side of the tablet and into the back. There was a long closet of sorts, with staves hanging on the left and the bronze swords hanging on the right. He looked from left to right. Even at the end, Asmund had urged the young man to take up an Inquisitor's sword, but Leogeon had chosen the more quiet life of the priest years ago. He pulled down one of the tall oak staves, one that was only slightly taller than he. Leogeon had no idea how the staves and blades were replenished. No-one did. It certainly helped that the Order was becoming smaller and smaller of late, after word of the Cleansing had spread to the people of the High One's church.
Leogeon walked back to the pool and dropped back in, coming up to the tablet again. He tightened his fingers around the well-carved wood of the staff as he said the binding words.
"By flames I swear," he began. "to serve the Sky Dweller with every breath I take. To spread word of the Golden Flame to the People. To save Gammesia from a dark future. To uphold morality and justice." Leogeon felt a warmth blossom in his chest, the first traces of the Golden Flame filling him. Two more verses.
"By flames I swear to guide Gammesia to peace and life well lived. By flames I swear to be a beacon of light in oncoming darkness. By flames I swear to live a life of Ivarord." Leogeon closed his eyes. He had just sworn to live his life for the Sky Dweller, and for nothing else. He began the final words of the Creed.
"By flames I swear my life to the service of the Sky Dweller, the High One. To the High One I give my soul." Leogeon fell silent as the chamber itself. The traces of golden light swirled around the figure in the pool, warming him. One by one, they drew closer, finally covering Leogeon in light. He felt himself fall slowly into the pool.

When Leogeon woke, night had fallen. The Sanctum was nearly dark, save for the torches that still burned. The lights in the air had not rekindled. Leogeon felt warm, though his whole body was covered in water. How, exactly, he hadn't drowned was a mystery. A miracle of the High One, it seemed. He drew himself up, out of the pool, and towards the door. One did not stay in the High One's holy Sanctum any longer than they were bidden, and Leogeon's time was over. He tied the laces on his hide boots and tied the strings of his robe, tightening it around his well-muscled chest. Asmund, through nigh-endless exercise, had given him the physique of an Inquisitor, even if he didn't need it.
Leogeon turned back to the tranquil chamber one last time, taking in the calm and beauty. A moment later he pushed through the doors and out onto the snowy stone of Mount Aghi. Wind blew at him harshly and strongly, but it no longer bother the man. He smiled. Truly a priest at last. He supposed he'd be sent somewhere as a missionary in a few month's time. Not quite what he'd like, but he would be given the time to study Ivar's words in a few year's time. Until then, High Monk Torvald would tell him what to do. He wandered down the path slowly, gazing out at the moon high in the sky. It was beautiful in the untouched North, particularly at night. Many complained that it was too cold, too far from society at the Great Monastery, but it was perfect, the way Leogeon saw it.
Life as a servant of the Sky Dweller had begun.